Death
21 November 1999
I can think of no better way to end the story of Quentin's life than with this snipit from his Afterword to the Omnibus edition of his autobiographies, (The Naked Civil Servant, How To Become a Virgin & Resident Alien), which was published to celebrate his 90th birthday.
One is never without friends, especially in America and particularly in Manhattan. I have survived the rigours of New York City life for nearly twenty years and have made it a nesting place for my weary bones and failing body.
Since the publication of Resident Alien, I have lost the use of my left hand to carpal tunnel syndrome. Doctors suggested I should have my wrists cut. But I said when I cut my wrists it will be for ever!
The papers for which I worked have folded. I worked for the New York Native and for Christopher Street. . . At the same time, Connie Clausen, my long-time agent in America, died. I took these things as a sign from You-Know-Who that my writing career was ended.
Now I go to various places and work in tiny theatres, telling the inhabitants how to be happy. . . On my ninetieth birthday I was put in a theatre called the Intar Theatre by Mr Glines. There I performed my act for six weeks.
Now there is a theatre and a museum named after me. Why, I don't know, but they do exist. . . Also, I have been made immortal by Madame Tussaud! Why they have decided to put me in her musuem, I can't imagine, but they have.
My body is falling apart as I write this missive to you. My weary bones speak each time I lift my legs to climb the stairs to my room. I am very ill with prostrate cancer, an enlarged heart and eczema - to mention only a few of my afflictions. So I don't expect to live much longer. However, I would hate to leave this world without saying that I have had a good ride of it all. . . I have made it to the Big Time with an abundance of smiles, . .
My life in New York has been infinitely wonderful. I have been very happy living my winter years here. I remain very busy going here and there, . . I am always approached to appear in movies, and my agent continues to book me for appearances across the country. . . So, despite rambling on about my body's decline, I've gone on living. At least for right now I am too busy to die! As I approach my ninety-first birthday, I am just as active as I have always been. I am at the age where all the people my age stay home and sit their rockers. Not Me!
Quentin Crisp died on 21 November 1999 in Manchester. He had just flown in the previous day from New York to do a series of his One-Man shows, but was found dead in bed the next morning. Cause of death was registered as Heart Attack.
His body was cremated and his ashes scattered around the streets of Manhattan were he had lived.
One is never without friends, especially in America and particularly in Manhattan. I have survived the rigours of New York City life for nearly twenty years and have made it a nesting place for my weary bones and failing body.
Since the publication of Resident Alien, I have lost the use of my left hand to carpal tunnel syndrome. Doctors suggested I should have my wrists cut. But I said when I cut my wrists it will be for ever!
The papers for which I worked have folded. I worked for the New York Native and for Christopher Street. . . At the same time, Connie Clausen, my long-time agent in America, died. I took these things as a sign from You-Know-Who that my writing career was ended.
Now I go to various places and work in tiny theatres, telling the inhabitants how to be happy. . . On my ninetieth birthday I was put in a theatre called the Intar Theatre by Mr Glines. There I performed my act for six weeks.
Now there is a theatre and a museum named after me. Why, I don't know, but they do exist. . . Also, I have been made immortal by Madame Tussaud! Why they have decided to put me in her musuem, I can't imagine, but they have.
My body is falling apart as I write this missive to you. My weary bones speak each time I lift my legs to climb the stairs to my room. I am very ill with prostrate cancer, an enlarged heart and eczema - to mention only a few of my afflictions. So I don't expect to live much longer. However, I would hate to leave this world without saying that I have had a good ride of it all. . . I have made it to the Big Time with an abundance of smiles, . .
My life in New York has been infinitely wonderful. I have been very happy living my winter years here. I remain very busy going here and there, . . I am always approached to appear in movies, and my agent continues to book me for appearances across the country. . . So, despite rambling on about my body's decline, I've gone on living. At least for right now I am too busy to die! As I approach my ninety-first birthday, I am just as active as I have always been. I am at the age where all the people my age stay home and sit their rockers. Not Me!
Quentin Crisp died on 21 November 1999 in Manchester. He had just flown in the previous day from New York to do a series of his One-Man shows, but was found dead in bed the next morning. Cause of death was registered as Heart Attack.
His body was cremated and his ashes scattered around the streets of Manhattan were he had lived.